


sensory memory

by tobito-dorito (jelly_tyson)



Series: all my senses [2]
Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: F/F, Fluff, cotton candy fluff and sweetness, excruciatingly soft, just a collection of moments, not really much of a plot at all, pretty sure this will give you cavities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-10-10 07:09:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20523986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jelly_tyson/pseuds/tobito-dorito
Summary: A collection of moments associated with the five senses, told from both points of view.





	1. Christen

**Author's Note:**

> she’s touch, smell, sight, taste, and sound  
Tal Bachman, She’s So High
> 
> *slaps a roof on this fanfiction*  
this baby can fit so much self-projection!

**Touch**

Christen loved when it rained like this.

In the last few weeks they had settled into a quiet and effortless domesticity. They often fell into an unspoken routine and a comfortable silence usually blanketed the apartment. It had happened almost instantly, likely a result of spending months and years together during the stress of national competition, and now was simply expected. Especially on afternoons like this.

Rain poured against the windowpanes and they had no plans to leave the couch.

Tobin had been intermittently napping all day and she found herself three chapters deep in a new novel. Her legs were propped up on the ottoman, the red fleece warm against her bare legs. She loved the feeling of the blanket over her legs, but she loved the feeling of Tobin’s head in her lap, eyes closed but not quite asleep anymore. She held a book in her left hand as slender fingers traced up and down her right.

Tobin was always in motion, always jittery and restless. But on this afternoon, she was remarkably still. Only her hands moved.

Her fingers were feather light against Christen’s. She traced over each line of her knuckles and down the length of each long and slender finger. She followed the veins on the back of her hands up her wrist until they disappeared below tanned skin. She drew circles over the joints of her thumb and the bones of her wrist and pressed the pads of her fingers against Christen’s pulse point, feeling the steady heartbeat below.

Sometimes Tobin would move higher, up her arm, turning it carefully and exploring the new skin she revealed. She counted every freckle and scar and ghosted her fingers over the soft hairs. Christen felt Tobin chuckle against her thigh as she proudly watched the goosebumps follow her touch.

Eventually, Tobin returned to her hand and pressed her palm to hers, measuring the lengths of the outstretched fingers. Tobin brought it to her face and kissed the pad of each finger softly before resting Christen’s hand over her jaw.

Christen sighed as she felt Tobin smile under her palm. She had been rereading the same page for ten minutes but had no real desire to turn the page, as her free hand was not really free.

Instead she watched Tobin’s eyes close as she carded her hand through the other woman’s hair. It was soft from the morning’s shower and Christen knew that this was what Tobin had been hoping for since she first laid down in her lap. She could feel Tobin soften beneath her hands, the low vibrations of a hum against her legs as she ran her fingers against her scalp.

She would never say it out loud, but she loved how easily Tobin melted into this. She loved feeling her sink deeper into relaxation against her, and melt under the simplest of touches. She reluctantly brought her hand to turn the page before returning it to Tobin’s cheek. The other woman smiled and grasped at it again, pressing a lingering kiss to the pulse point.

“Can I paint your nails?”

Christen loved how different she sounded when she was horizontal and relaxed, she hadn’t even recognized the words themselves.

“Can I?”

“Hmm?”

Tobin shifted in her lap, making herself known, and repeated herself.

“Can I paint your nails? I can’t be with you on the pitch this weekend but if I paint your nails… then… I’m kinda with you?”

The words echoed in Christen’s ear. The request had been unexpected, to say the least, but something about it made her feel brave. There was an echo of uncertainty, an insecurity, that hid behind Tobin’s words and Christen felt a rush of warmth in her chest. She placed a bookmark between the pages and set the book on the table behind her before bringing both of her hands to frame Tobin’s face.

She _really_ loved the feeling of Tobin’s smile widening under her fingertips.

“Okay.” She whispered.

Tobin was off of the couch in an instant, the calmness of seconds ago suddenly replaced by the bursts of energy Christen knew well. The quiet thuds of her bare feet were drowned out by the rain as she jogged away to the bathroom.

Tobin returned minutes later holding a handful of tissues and a small bottle of nail polish. Without looking up, she collected the blanket from Christen’s legs and draped it over the nearby chair. She used her free hand to carefully position the book on the couch beside Christen and placed the bottle on the hard cover to keep it from tipping over. Her movements were thoughtful. Calm and fluid and focused.

She moved the ottoman backwards and sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the couch, her shoulders bracketed by Christen’s bare knees.

Christen blushed at the change in positioning, but Tobin was entirely focused on the task at hand. She unscrewed the cap of the nail polish and held out her hand, meeting her gaze for the first time.

Christen felt her heart skip as she slowly placed her right hand in Tobin’s. It felt heavy and secure. It felt _safe_ and she felt _weightless_. Tobin had built ladders over and dug tunnels under and torn down the walls Christen had put up around herself years ago, but in this moment, right now, Christen had literally handed herself to her. There was something different about this touch.

It sent fire through her veins. It made her light and it made her strong.

Tobin barely looked up as she swept the polish over her fingernails. She had chosen a simple ivory color that wouldn’t draw attention but reminded her of something old and something new. _Something borrowed and something… blue?_ Tobin’s thumb drew circles over her knuckles, mindless but intentional, as she reapplied polish to the brush. Her bottom lip was caught between her teeth and she wore the same focused look as when memorizing a new sequence on the pitch.

She finished the right hand and placed a kiss to each knuckle before gently placing Christen’s hand against her own thigh. The back of Tobin’s knuckles brushed against the hem of her shorts and she shivered.

Christen had never felt anything like this before. She wondered if Tobin was feeling the same.

Tobin’s forearms rested heavily on her knees as Christen offered her left hand. She could feel every exhale against the inside of her thigh, every clench of Tobin’s jaw as she got too close to the edge of a fingernail. She felt the hissed _shoot _after missing a nail, and she felt the cool wetness as she carefully dabbed the polish off of her fingertip.

She felt everything.

Tobin finished the final nail and carefully closed the bottle of polish. Her cheek rested against Christen’s thigh as she held both of her hands, admiring her handiwork. She blew on them gently to speed up the drying and Christen shivered. Tobin grinned as she felt the goosebumps of her thigh against her cheek. She lingered for a moment on the floor and placed a chaste kiss to the top of her knee - a silent _thank you _laden with promises of something more. 

Christen dropped her right hand after a few minutes but Tobin still wouldn’t release the left. All of her movements had all been careful and calculated. Organized. Confident. Tobin kissed to the base of her ring finger, brushing over it intently before standing up and returning the nail polish to the bathroom.

Nothing she had done this whole time wasn’t deliberate, and the kiss was no different.

Christen’s finger burned in a way that felt so right it scared her.

***

**Smell**

Christen woke to the sounds of trees rustling in the wind. Her back and shoulders ached, her face was cold, and she suddenly felt claustrophobic. The damp, musty, plasticky smell of the tent was suffocating – there was no air flow, no relief, only plastic and mud. She unzipped a window and inhaled the cool air from outside, but still couldn’t escape the musk of the tent.

Camping was something she was going to get used to slowly.

She moved the arm that was draped heavily across her stomach aside and fumbled for a beanie and some warmer clothes. She settled on a long-sleeved shirt and a hoodie and carefully opened the zipper of the tent before carefully crawling outside.

She closed her eyes and inhaled, letting the clean air wash over and through her as she stretched.

Her senses filled with something familiar and unmistakable. Damp earth, decaying leaves that covered fresh grass, dew evaporating from grass and weeds and bark. She smelled pine and dirt and fresh flowers.

There was a word for it.

_Petrichor._

The smell the forest after the rain.

It was unmistakable. Alluring. Everything it needed to be.

She was no stranger to the smell of grass after the rain. But this was more than just the smell of dew on manicured, painted grass before a morning training session. The Oregon woods told a hundred stories.

Christen had never really been camping, not this definition of camping. She spent most of the first day watching Tobin settle in effortlessly and trying to do the same. Truthfully, she had always liked the idea of spending a night or two in the woods huddling by the campfire and sharing a sleeping bag, but she didn’t know the _how_.

The first thing she learned about camping with Tobin was that Tobin didn’t really know how either.

The second was that it didn’t matter.

The third was that the smells of camping were remarkable.

She breathed in again and tried to identify the components of the petrichor.

The morning dew had settled on the treesand had soaked into the ground below. The smells of decay were matched by the smells of the blooming wildflowers beside them. As the trees swayed in the breeze the smell of pine and bark filled the air.

The air was cool and damp and crisp and Christen was drowning in it.

She grabbed the orange blanket from under the tarp and draped it over her as she nestled into one of the folding chairs. The chairs smelled faintly of her grandfather’s fishing cabin, and she couldn’t help but smile. He would’ve liked Tobin.

The blanket was scratchy against her chin as she breathed in the new scent. Ash. Wood. Fire. Smoke. Wool. Tobin. Just a hint of Tobin. Mostly smoke.

She liked the campfire.

She liked watching the flames dance and the embers vanish upwards into the night as the wood. She liked how the wood cracked and crumbled below the flames and sent sparks through the flames. She liked how the feeling of warmth against her hands immediately disappeared as she shifted away from the fire. She liked watching Tobin struggle with graham cracker packaging and the sweet taste of marshmallow against her lips under the stars.

She liked how Tobin sat on the ground against her shins, claiming that spot was best for roasting, and how her shoulders relaxed under her hands.

A gust of wind blew through the trees and a few drops of rain fell onto her knees, disrupting her thoughts. She burrowed farther into the hood of the sweatshirt and took a deep breath, her lungs filling with the smells of dirt and smoke and Tobin.

She committed this morning to memory, knowing that she won’t ever be able to recreate the smell of the forest after the rain as it mixed with dirt and smoke and Tobin.

*** 

**Sight **

The sun was barely up and the day was already scheduled for them. _9 am conditioning, 10 am lift, 1 pm film study, 4 pm training_. The _6 pm ice bath_ wasn’t scheduled but Christen knew everyone was going to need it.

Morning conditioning meant breakfast was scarce, if anything, and happened early. Christen and Alyssa were alone in the dining room and occupied a corner table. Christen always started the day slowly and quietly, and appreciated that Alyssa often did the same, swiftly filling in the morning’s crossword puzzle.

Christen watched as the rest of the team filed in slowly. She studied the team’s movements and outfits. Everyone always talked about the _depth of talent_ on the national team but few knew about the depth of personality. Some came to breakfast early with a book or a puzzle, some came still wearing their headphones. Some came in a group. Some came in shouting – and were immediately silenced by the icy glares from their teammates. Some wore sneakers, some wore slides, others ignored shoes completely.

She smiled to herself as she watched socked feet shuffle through the doorway. Only one person could make it all the way down to the breakfast room before realizing she had forgotten shoes.

Christen’s gaze followed the length of the other woman’s legs, long and lanky and covered by loose grey sweatpants, up to the plain black sweatshirt she wore. Tobin’s shoulders were hunched, and her hands were tightly shoved into the pocket of the hoodie. Her hair was wild around her head, still untamed by sleep. She lumbered through the line for coffee and Christen sighed as Tobin pushed the glasses back to her face with her free hand.

Alyssa huffed a laugh at Christen, quietly mocking her for very _loudly_ staring. Christen shrugged and brought her own mug of coffee to her face to hide the blush of her cheeks.

Tobin turned towards the room and Christen froze, holding the mug in front of her face and but not daring to drink it. Her mouth fell open and her throat went dry and she was absolutely certain she was not hiding this well. She prayed that Alyssa was the only one who had picked up on something. Secrets were always safe with a keeper.

Tobin was wearing her sweatshirt.

Her favorite sweatshirt.

The small Stanford crest on the chest had long faded after a decade of washing, but the sweatshirt was a reminder of home that Christen brought with her every camp. Surely someone would recognize it. Christen hoped everyone else was too focused on the early hour to really notice anything. After all, Tobin had made it to the dining room without shoes and still no one had mentioned it.

Coffee in hand, Tobin made her way towards the open chair besides Alyssa. She sunk into the chair across from Christen and took a long drink of coffee, never looking up. Christen’s knuckles were white around her own mug and her cheeks were still flushed from the first realization.

She liked mornings. She liked watching everyone else wake up. She liked watching Tobin take an unprecedented amount of time to do so.

She really liked how in the mornings, Tobin’s hair had a mind of its own and yet it was somehow always impossibly soft. She longed for the rare occasions when she opted for the tortoise-shell glasses that framed her face instead of struggling with contact lenses. She loved the way they brought out her eyes. She loved watching as caffeine brought Tobin to life.

She really hadn’t expected what the sight of Tobin in _her favorite sweatshirt_ would do to her.

Christen sighed softly and shifted in her chair as she finally tore her eyes away from the woman across the table. They ate mostly in silence, the three of them determined to hold on to the quiet comfort of the morning. Eventually Tobin excused herself, mumbling something about how she needed shoes to get better coffee. Christen wasn’t listening. She nearly jumped out of her seat to follow her, the sudden and ungraceful movements eliciting a few teasing coughs and a grin from Alyssa.

Alyssa winked at her as Christen glared back, her cheeks slightly pink and giving everything away.

Christen barely made it to the elevator before the doors closed, her arm just reaching out in time to stop the doors before they closed. She pressed the button for their floor before taking a few steps towards Tobin and closing the distance between them. Christen glanced shyly at the ground before she ran her fingers over the worn and tattered fabric of the sweatshirt. Her hands moved higher, never leaving the fabric, needing the contact, and they eventually fell to rest on Tobin’s shoulders. Tobin, still sleepy but wide awake now, wrapped her hands around Christen’s waist as the elevator continued to rise.

Tobin’s eyes were wide and soft as Christen smiled back at her. She took in the sight from up close, noting how Tobin’s lips twitched upward with a quiet _hi_.

“This is mine,” she whispered as she drummed her fingers softly on Tobin’s shoulders. The words were breathless but heavy.

Tobin tensed and felt a momentary pang of guilt. They were being careful. It was still so early in their time together that _they_ were barely figuring it what it meant for them, but the risks to the team were so high. They had to be careful. She really hadn’t meant to wear Christen’s sweatshirt to _breakfast_, it was just the first thing she had found on the floor…

“Oh,” she apologized, “I didn’t – you must’ve left it after – ” 

Christen’s eyes softened as she pulled the other woman closer, hoping her actions could speak the words she couldn’t find. Her breath was warm and soft as she buried herself in the crook of her neck. Tobin released her reluctantly as the elevator chimed and murmured_ careful_.

Christen followed her out of the elevator, at a safe distance, but still aware that Tobin’s roommate was still causing trouble in the dining room. They were alone. She watched as Tobin nervously brushed the hair from her face as she opened the door.

Tobin turned back to her. Her face was painted with a shy honesty and remorse Christen hadn’t really ever seen before. Coupled with the glasses and the hair that was stuck in the hood of the sweatshirt, a warmth filled her entire body and she crossed her arms to keep from reaching out and pushing Tobin into to the room.

“Chris, I - I really am sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t mean to wear it in front of everyone. It just – ” Christen watched the corners of Tobin’s mouth turn upwards in a nervous smile. The kind that she didn’t want to be wearing but couldn’t help it. “It smelled like you.”

Shy, nervous, endearing, glasses-wearing, clothes-stealing, honeymoon phase, barely-awake Tobin was a sight to see.

A sight she could definitely get used to seeing.

The heat beneath her skin still burned and Christen realized she hadn’t yet responded. She couldn’t speak past the lump in her throat and was too focused on committing the moment to memory. As Tobin turned back to the room, Christen needed her to know how it affected her.

“Wait,” she whispered.

She took two large steps to the doorway and grabbed the chest of the sweatshirt, pulling Tobin to her, and covered her lips with her own. She kissed her like she needed it to breathe, firm and strong, then lingered for a moment as Tobin softened into the abrupt contact. She sighed as she felt Tobin’s heartbeat quicken under the fabric.

“Okay,” Christen said quietly as she pulled away. “You can go now.”

Tobin stood motionless in the doorway, her chapped lips parted slightly in surprise. Christen winked and let the door close between them, waving and watching as Tobin’s lips turned upwards.

…………

Four months later, at their next camp, she watched Tobin show up to breakfast wearing #23 on her shorts. Amidst the teasing and snickering, Tobin had simply winked at her from behind her coffee mug.

That night, the shorts ended up hanging off a lampshade.

***

**Taste**

It was the best cup of coffee Christen had had in ages.

She watched as Tobin filled the kettle and poured a small handful of beans into the grinder. The sounds of metal and grinding and crunching fell on deaf ears. All Christen could focus on was the sight of Tobin’s bare thighs below her t-shirt and how her hair had been brushed to her front, exposing some of the skin beneath her ear.

She tried to stand, to move closer, to reach out and touch and kiss and hold, but as soon as Tobin heard the creak of the chair she sent back a warning smirk.

“Patience.” Her voice was husky with sleep and Christen fought the urge to smile.

Instead, she watched Tobin continue to move around the kitchen. She measured a few tablespoons of the ground beans and carefully poured them into the base of the French press and placed two ceramic mugs on the counter.

She wondered if Tobin was always this precise, if she always took the time to grind her own beans and to weigh them perfectly, or if this was some sort of special occasion.

It was, but it also wasn’t.

Christen was a regular in Portland at this point. She spent more weeknights there than anywhere else.

Tobin’s bare feet padded across the floor towards her and she couldn’t help the burn of heat low in her belly. She melted into the kiss as Tobin’s hand curled around the base of her neck, pulling her closer. Her tongue swept across her bottom lip and Christen obliged, allowing her to deepen the kiss. Fire coursed through her veins and filled her stomach as Tobin’s lips continued their assault, warm and languid and filled with a thousand morning promises.

The whistle of the kettle interrupted them and Christen swallowed Tobin’s disappointed groan against her lips.

She raised her hands to her lips, now warm and soft and swollen, and watched as Tobin poured the water carefully and methodically over the grounds. She hit a few buttons on her phone, a timer, Christen guessed, and poured the remaining hot water into each of the coffee mugs.

Christen could barely think clearly this morning, but somehow Tobin was measuring coffee grounds, setting alarms, and preheating mismatched mugs, and kissing her senseless against the kitchen counter.

She could get used to this.

She crossed her legs again, fighting the urge to stand up and take control and wrap Tobin in her arms, and instead let the smell of coffee fill her lungs. Tobin raised her arms above her head and stretched, revealing even more bare skin and lean muscle and Christen raked her eyes over the bare skin, remembering how it felt under her hands and how it tasted in the moonlight. Christen blushed, a little embarrassed and a lot turned on, as Tobin cocked an eyebrow and smirked her way.

She was grateful that the timer broke the tension and brought Tobin back to the task at hand – caffeine. She pressed the grounds into the base of the carafe and emptied the hot water from each mug. She filled one mug with just a splash of almond milk, the other with 2%, before finally pouring the coffee over each.

Christen’s hands lingered over hers as she passed her the steaming mug, and Tobin smiled. It was a shy, purposeful smile, different than the flirty smirk from just seconds ago – the kind of smile that came with handing yourself to someone and hoping they didn’t drop it.

It was an ordinary cup of coffee, really, but when she raised the mug to her lips the taste was unparalleled.

Tobin always had good coffee on hand. The flavors and aromas of the dark, Sumatran roast were familiar and enchanting, but there was something more. Something beyond the earthy, spicy, toasted notes of the beans.

Something about how Tobin knew exactly how much almond milk to add. Something about how Tobin always kept almond milk in her fridge.

She took another sip and closed her eyes, humming softly as the liquid heated her from the inside out. She tasted morning smiles, sunsets, lazy afternoons, and reading on the beach. She tasted smooth skin and chapstick and a thousand different kisses.

When she opened her eyes, she found Tobin’s on her, staring in awe and wonder, holding her own mug close to her chest.

“Good?” She asked, breathless.

Christen hums into the her mug, drunk on the feeling of weightlessness that comes with every sip.

“It’s the best cup of coffee I’ve ever had,” The honesty in her own words surprised her.

Tobin laughed and played it off. “You’re just saying that.”

“I really don’t think I am. How did you do it?”

Christen was genuinely curious as to how, in her twenty-some years on the planet, she’d never had a cup of coffee as good as the one in front of her now.

She watched the edges of Tobin’s lips curl upward behind the coffee mug, watched the blush creep up her neck and over her jaw. She watched Tobin take a quiet breath, gathering confidence before she spoke quietly.

“Made with love, I guess.”

***

**Sound**

Christen woke to a sound she couldn’t identify. It was quiet and distant, and the slightest bit shrill.

She opened her eyes to the darkness of a room she also didn’t recognize. It smelled vaguely familiar, musty and cool, but lights were too low, and the sheets were too soft on her bare skin and she was _sore_.

_Oh. _

Right.

She wasn’t in her own bed.

The sound was the sound of someone else.

Her face turned scarlet as memories from the night before washed over her again. Red wine. Red lipstick. Lingering touches equal parts fire and ice up her thigh. Teasing glances and dark, hungry stares.

She remembered the other parts too. The bruises on her hips and thigh were visible even in the darkness, and there were blooms of purple across her chest and neck. 

It was her first time flying out to Portland. The first time in months that they could really be alone. No roommates or teammates or family or friends. No walks of shame, no cameras. Christen remembered a suggestion of a late dinner as they left the terminal and remembered how her whispered words sounded against Tobin’s ear.

_No_.

Heat flared again, low in her stomach.

_Take me home_.

The noises continued from the other room as Christen slipped an oversized _Tar Heels_ t-shirt over her head. Christen padded towards the doorway of the bedroom, slightly ajar, and focused on identifying the sound.

A whistle.

Tobin was whistling.

The quiet timbre of an indistinct melody filled the empty apartment and echoed in Christen’s chest. The notes were disordered as they bounced off the walls, pitchy but smooth, as though distorted somehow. She wondered if Tobin was smiling.

The sound of the whistle itself wasn’t new to her. She’d heard it before, aimlessly filling the silence of a hotel hallway or jokingly wolf-whistling at Alex in the locker room, but this was different. The pitch was familiar but the tone was new. It wasn’t an absentminded melody, it was… something more.

Christen walked closer to the door. To really listen, not just to hear. The sounds filled her ears and coursed through her veins – a major third followed by a quiet crescendo, accented staccato and whispered low chords. It reminded her of the taste of honey and smell of pine and surging feelings of blind confidence.

It reminded her of arms wrapping around her shoulders and hips pulling her close and praise being whispered into her glistening skin.

It was joy, confidence, desire, comfort, and the slightest bit of smugness.

She tiptoed into the kitchen, allowing the whistling to wash over her completely. She felt warm and light and, well, smug. After all, she was pretty sure she had figured out the reason Tobin was whistling _this_ way.

Tobin turned around quickly, somehow already aware of her presence. Her lips still formed around a small _o_ as her eyes drifted slowly down the length of Christen’s bare legs. She watched Tobin grin as her eyes lingered on the red marks on her neck.

“Hey,” Tobin’s voice was hoarse and quiet. Breathless.

“Hi.”

The apartment was quiet now, but the whistled tones still burned and danced below Christen’s skin.

“I, uh,” Tobin stammered. “I made coffee?”

Christen moved towards her and reached for Tobin’s hips. She pressed a kiss to the other woman’s jaw, her tongue teasing the skin beneath.

“Do you always whistle like that the morning after?” she whispered between kisses. Her grasp tightened on her hips, fingers pressing below the thin fabric.

“I wasn’t – was I – whistling?”

Christen chuckled before nipping at her neck.

“Or was it just because of me?”

Tobin wrapped her arms low around Christen’s back and she turned her head upwards encouragingly. It was only fair that she also wore matching marks.

“Only you,” Tobin whispered. “_You. Only you_.”

Christen pressed a final kiss to her neck and backed away slowly. She pulled the shirt off her shoulders and tossed it at Tobin, hitting her squarely in the chest. Her words carried through the air as she swayed back to the bedroom.

“Show me what else you can do with your mouth,”


	2. Tobin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> turns out this chapter is longer, probably because I, too, just want to be in love with the eloquent, cool, soft-spoken, beautiful, kind Stanford genius.
> 
> I wasn't kidding with the cotton candy levels of fluff. It's almost too much, but hey, write what you want to read, right?

**Touch **

The first few times, Tobin really didn’t think anything of it.

They were teammates.

They were in the middle of a match against Canada and Tobin was hot. The air was hot and humid, the forwards and midfielders couldn’t seem to connect, and Sinc had been riling her up and trash talking at the top of the circle all afternoon.

She was never grateful when a player went down, but it did mean that they got a water break and a few minutes to recollect. She barely listened to whatever coach was saying about overlapping runs and shutting down the counterattack – she was just so _frustrated_. 

Christen handed her a water bottle. Her hand came to Tobin’s elbow and lingered for just the slightest of moments.

“McLeod is weak on the near post,” she said. “Tell Alex to go far and draw the defenders. Leave the rest to Syd.”

Tobin nodded as she splashed water on her face and arms, thankful for the reminder to focus on the match. As the team ran back to the pitch Tobin relayed Christen’s advice to the two forwards.

Eight minutes later, Tobin delivered a cross and the team finally had their first goal, a Leroux header at the near post. She glanced at the bench as she trotted back to midfield and flashed a thumbs up towards Christen.

Tobin had barely noticed how long Christen’s hand wrapped around her elbow in the huddle.

She definitely didn’t _think_ about it – she was still battling on the pitch.

It happened a few more times over the course of the tournament, each time Tobin relaxed more easily under Christen’s touch. She wanted to enjoy those moments – the moments just between them – but then Christen handed a water bottle to Mal and kept her hand at her shoulder a few seconds too long.

Lingering at a water break was just something Christen did.

After all, they were teammates.

…………

Two months later, she and a few teammates were out to dinner to celebrate something. Tobin wasn’t really sure what. A graduation, maybe? There was too much food and too much champagne and everything was feeling light and warm.

She felt good.

This time, she noticed when Christen’s hand rested on her elbow as she passed her a glass of water.

She felt _good_.

…………

“Here,” she said. “Let me help.”

Christen’s voice was soft and low. She sat with her knees crossed on the bed of the hotel room, already dressed. The burgundy fabric of her dress was modest and professional and sleeveless. Tobin ignored the lump in her throat as she watched Christen’s toned arms put the straightener down.

“I’m stuck,” Tobin swore, still fumbling with the zipper of her own dress.

“I know,” Christen chuckled. “Let me help.”

Tobin moved into the middle of the hotel room they shared.

She felt her entire body tighten as Christen gathered her drying hair from around the base of her neck and let it fall in front of her shoulder. She breathed slowly as gentle fingers worked low at her back, desperately hoping she appeared cooler than she felt. Eventually, Christen maneuvered the zipper back between the teeth and zipped the dress slowly.

Too slowly.

Tobin could feel everything. Nimble fingers effortlessly detangling metal from metal, the brush of knuckles across her bare back, warm breath tickling the back of her neck as she reached the top. It sent goosebumps down her spine and a flash of heat to her chest.

When the zipper reached the top, Christen fastened the clasp and smoothed her hands across Tobin’s shoulders. It wasn’t necessary – the dress already fell flat against her shoulders and the soft black fabric was extremely forgiving – instead, it felt deliberate. Her shoulders tensed under Christen’s fingertips and she closed her eyes, committing the feeling to memory.

“There,” Christen said. “Better?”

Christen dropped her hands from her shoulders and Tobin exhaled.

“Yeah,” she breathed. “Much.”

When she turned to retrieve her shoes, Tobin pretended she didn’t notice the blush across Christen’s face and neck.

They were teammates.

The more she repeated it to herself, the harder it got to believe.

…………

Tobin sat on the edge of the hotel bed in shorts and sneakers. Her head was still spinning. They were in New York just a few hours ago. _How could it possibly still be Wednesday?_

She fiddled with a blazer that she was pretty sure didn’t belong to her and blindly fastened one of the buttons. Good enough. She closed her eyes and willed the world to stop spinning for just a few minutes.

“You’re not straight.”

Christen’s voice forced her to open her eyes and it took everything in Tobin’s power not to make a joke. They had been drinking for the past… days… and Christen now stood in front of her in California hotel room looking like she actually might be a ray of sunshine.

Tobin reached out and pulled Christen by the waist, closer, until she was standing between her legs. The yellow suit scratched her palms as she clasped her fingers together at the small of Christen’s back. The deep neck of the jacket left little to the imagination and Tobin couldn’t resist the urge to kiss the soft, tanned, bare skin of her ribs.

“Hmm. Neither are you,” she muttered between kisses.

Christen’s hands pressed into her shoulder blades as Tobin moved her fingers lower. She memorized the curves and dips of Christen’s body and how she responded to touch, and how she was especially responsive when she’s towering above.

“We’re going to be late,”

Tobin let the strangled warning wash over her skin. Under her skin. She flexed her shoulders under Christen’s hands and felt the pads press deeper. It was electric.

Everything was spinning but everything was on fire.

“Babe, seriously - we’re going to be late.”

Tobin grunted. Christen pushed her chest out of reach but kept her hands firmly planted around Tobin’s shoulders and arms. She ran her fingers over Tobin’s neck and through the hair at the base of her skull. It was still damp from the shower earlier. Tobin’s eyes shut as Christen worked through the few knots that remained.

Her fingers glided back down her chest and Tobin inhaled sharply as Christen’s hands connect with bare skin. Her knuckles were light against her sternum as she fixed the blazer so that the first button actually lined up with the first buttonhole and wasn’t crooked anymore.

They were drunk, but they were not that drunk.

Well, maybe they were.

But Tobin was drunk on more than champagne and beer and victory and jet lag. Christen’s hands still splayed across her stomach and Tobin just wanted more of _this_. She hated knowing that soon enough they would be back with the team, back in front of the cameras, and Christen wouldn’t have her hands on her. All she wanted was to be under her touch.

As Tobin was finally ready to leave the hotel room, Christen reached out and grabbed her hand. She pressed their palms together and intertwined the fingers and pressed a firm kiss to her jaw.

“Thanks for coming with me tonight,” she whispered.

“I kind of have to,” Tobin shrugged. “We’re teammates.”

Teammates. _We’re teammates_. Tobin had chanted these words to herself for years. First, never allowing herself to make more of an innocent touch. Later, a promise to keep things secret from the rest of the team. Now, a challenge to keep a secret from the world. She had gotten good at just being a _teammate_ at these sorts of events. Tonight was no different, she thought.

“Not tonight. Tonight, you’re my date.”

Christen squeezed her hand and the words made Tobin shiver.

“I wish you had told me that sooner,” she sighed. “I wouldn’t have dressed like your bodyguard.”

“Hmm,” Christen laughed as she opened the hotel door. “It works, though. Besides, you’ll always be my protector, right?”

Tobin grinned as she kissed the back of Christen’s hand, still clasped in her own.

“Always.”

***

**Smell**

(Slight tw for emetophobia)

Tobin barely made it to the bathroom before she emptied the contents of her stomach into the toilet. It was minutes before the room stopped spinning and the smell of bile and acid no longer filled the air. She rested her back against the cool porcelain of the tub and willed the room to stop spinning for just a few minutes before washing her face and returning to bed.

The second time it happened, Tobin swore after every lurch of her stomach. Christen’s plane landed in eight hours and she was lying on the tile floor, pale and shaky and nauseous. Everything smelled like death and dying and she knew this wasn’t just a stomach bug.

Tobin jolted awake to the sound of Christen’s keys in the lock. It had been weeks since they’d had a weekend together but now both of their teams had a bye week and they had plans for coffee and sushi and…

The thought of food turned her stomach and Tobin once again found herself on the bathroom floor, heaving and swearing.

“Tobin?”

_Shit_.

So this was happening now.

A new level in their relationship was about to be reached, because Christen was about to find her crumpled on the bathroom floor, helpless and sweating and smelling like sickness.

“In here,” She cringed at the sound of the words. _Could you sound more pathetic, Tobin_?

She smelled coffee and the bitter, tannic, familiar smell caused her entire body to fold in on itself. Tobin breathed deeply – in your nose, out your mouth, hold and repeat – as she heard Christen’s feet shuffle in the doorway.

“I think our weekend might be off,” Tobin prayed it sounded less like a whimper than it felt.

“Yeah,” Christen said as she watched Tobin slide her back against the tub. “I think you’re right.”

Tobin couldn’t remember the last time she had been sick, much less this sick. The kind of sick that left you aching all over and dizzy and nauseous all the time. All the time. She decided it was probably in high school, when her entire English class had the flu.

It was _awful_.

She had managed to get off the bathroom floor and had changed into clothes that weren’t drenched with cold sweat, welcoming the smells of laundry detergent and softness. Christen helped her to the bed, feeling her forehead in the process.

“Tobin, you’re burning up,” She said, eyes wide with concern.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not, though,” Christen brushed her hair back from her forehead and watched as Tobin settled into the pillows and burrowed under the blankets. “How long have you been like this?”

“Just tonight,” The world was still spinning. Tobin just wanted to sleep it off, to take some painkillers and spend the weekend with her girlfriend, who was currently looking at her like she was made out of glass. “Must’ve eaten something,”

“You’re shaking. You’re sweating. You’ve got a fever. You’re throwing up.”

“I’m fine.”

“_Tobin_,”

Tobin hated that tone. She hated the concern and condescension and _don’t lie to me_ that filled the words. She hated being treated like other people, and worse, like a child. So she shot back with the same mocking jab.

“_Christen_,”

Christen pulled away, her brow still furrowed with worry, and Tobin sighed deeply. Christen had literally walked into this mess twenty minutes ago, maybe she didn’t deserve backtalk.

“Sorry,” She said. The world was still spinning and she just wanted to sleep and recover in peace. “I’m just tired,”

“You’re sick, not just tired,” Christen smoothed the blankets over Tobin’s legs and brushed her hair off her burning forehead. Her hands were shaky and smelled like floral lotion. “We’re doing this now.”

“Yeah,”

“Sleep for a while,” she said.

Tobin smelled shampoo and lotion as she closed her eyes.

When she woke up, everything was cold. Cold and aching. Her head was throbbing and her mouth was dry and everything _hurt_. Tobin wrapped the blankets tighter around her shoulders and fighting the wave of nausea that overtook her. She couldn’t move without her stomach turning. She felt… gross.

She felt Christen shift next to her.

“Hey,” She said.

Tobin groaned.

It was somehow worse that Christen was with her because on top of being and feeling gross and inept she was embarrassed about how gross and inept she was.

“Feeling any better?”

Tobin rolled onto her back and brought the blankets over her head. “I think I’m dying.”

“You need to eat something,”

Tobin groaned.

“Tobin,”

“Can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

“Chris, I’m honestly not sure I can.”

“Is there anything that sounds appealing? Toast? Fruit? Saltines?”

Tobin’s stomach turned at the thought. “Please stop listing foods.”

Christen sighed. “Okay, but you need to drink something. What do you want?”

“I can get it,” Tobin mumbled as she started to sit up. _Slowly, slowly, slowly,_ she chanted to herself. A burning pressure shot through her forehead and she moved slowly, slowly, slowly back to the bed.

“Let me.”

“I’m not a child,” She shot back.

“I know you’re not.”

“I can get my own water.”

“I know you can,” The words were firmer now. “Let me.”

“You don’t need to…” _You don’t need to see me this pathetic_.

“Tobin, will you shut up and let me try to help you?”

A beat passed as Tobin readjusted herself. There was something about Christen’s words – firm and demanding but laced with a distant anxiety. Was she nervous about her illness, or about helping her? Tobin’s head continued to throb. She focused instead on breathing in the smell of the down pillow and comforter before speaking again.

“I’m not used to being sick. I feel so… useless.” She was embarrassed at the words but they fell anyway. “And I’m not used to someone helping me.”

“It’s new to me, too.” Some, but far from all, of the anxiety was gone from her voice.

Tobin’s throat burned with every word. “I _never_ get sick. I hate being like this. I hate being so pathetic. I hate that I promised you a weekend of hiking and food and sex and now you’re helping me off of my bathroom floor.”

“Tobin, I’m an Olympian, too. When I get a _cold_ I turn into a baby. You’ve got the flu.”

_I’m not a baby_, Tobin thought, but realized that well, she was. All fluids and sleeping and whining.

“We’re not used to our bodies rebelling like this.” She continued.

“You didn’t sign up for this.”

“I did.”

“I promised you sushi and the mountains.”

“We’ve got plenty of time for that later.” She ran her fingers through Tobin’s hair. “I signed up for all of this, Tobin.”

Tobin felt her heart skip as she drifted back to sleep. A new level had been reached indeed. 

“Come on, you need to eat.”

“They’re so dry.”

Christen passed her an open can of Sprite with a straw. _Had she gone shopping? Just for Sprite and saltines?_ She hadn’t had a Sprite since high school. Since the last time she could remember being this sick. There was no way Christen could have known that. She inhaled the smells of plastic and metal, sugar and bubbles, and took a small sip. She heard Christen exhale as Tobin took a tiny bite.

“Eat them all.”

“Chris…” She whined.

“Tobin.”

“What if I puke them up?”

“Then we’ll try something else. You need to eat something.”

“I’ll try.”

The second night wasn’t much better than the first.

“It hurts.” She whimpered, back resting against the bathtub again.

“What hurts?”

“My head. My stomach. My throat. My body. My head. Everything.”

Christen grimaced as she helped her back to the bed. Like it hurt her too. She pressed the back of her palm to Tobin’s forehead and Tobin sighed at the contact. The pressure felt good. She smelled like soap and warmth.

“I know something that might help,” She turned back to the bathroom and Tobin pinched her eyes further shut.

When she returned, she smelled wet cotton. Oddly distinguishable, she thought, but her head continued to pound against her eyelids. Christen placed a carefully folded wet washcloth over Tobin’s forehead, barely pressing on her eyelids and draping around her temples. The cool water and steady weight calmed the pounding and almost brought a smile to her face.

“My mom used to do this for me when I was sick.” Christen whispered into the darkness.

Tobin reached for her, eyes still closed, and Christen grasped her hand tightly, running her thumbs over the knuckles.

Tobin squeezed back before sleep overtook her again.

The next morning, Tobin woke to the smell of disinfectant. Cloying, artificial, industrial-strength lemon. She heard water running and the scraping of sponges on porcelain. She tried to ignore the fact that her girlfriend was cleaning her bathroom at 9:42 am on their Saturday morning together instead of curled up in bed with her, but didn’t have the energy.

The washcloth was gone from her forehead. Everything was still cold and aching, but at least the world wasn’t spinning anymore.

She made her way to the kitchen, still wrapped in a blanket, and grabbed a handful of saltines from the open counter. She was hardly hungry, but she was so _over_ feeling like this. Dry crackers and simple carbohydrates were going to help her, damn it.

Tobin stared at them for a few minutes. She wasn’t hungry. She was nauseous. She was having a staring contest with saltines.

She rolled her eyes. Their blandness mocked her. She was being mocked by cardboard. _That’s what they smelled like_, she thought,_ cardboard_.

She bit a corner off of one. They tasted like it, too.

“Hey,” Christen said as she emerged from the bedroom. Tobin smelled coffee and mint as she pressed her lips to Tobin’s forehead. “Not as warm as before, but still warm. How long have you been up?”

“Not long,” she shrugged. “These are terrible.”

“Yeah,” she said. “Is there anything you do feel like eating?”

Tobin winced. The thought of food still turned her stomach. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing at all. Ever again.”

Christen rubbed circles between her shoulder blades, pensive for a moment before decisively reaching for a notepad and pen. She grabbed her purse and a few of Tobin’s reusable shopping bags. 

“I have an idea. I’ll be back in… an hour or so.”

“Where are you going?”

“Store. I’ll be back. Text me if you think of anything besides nothing that you might want.”

Tobin wondered why she needed a notepad to go to the store but was already heading back to bed by the time the thought crossed her mind.

This time when she woke, it was to the smell of lemon. Lemon, thyme, celery, and… ginger?

It was a smell she knew, but she hadn’t experienced in years. Decades. Not since high school.

It was unmistakable, but she couldn’t place it. Something about the memory was incomplete.

Tobin closed her eyes and focused on the smell. Behind her eyelids she sees her childhood bedroom – trophies on shelves, posters on walls, backpacks and laundry thrown about. Except it was something she had only ever associated with her childhood home. With her childhood. With her mom’s cooking.

The aroma continued to develop. Lemon, chicken, carrots, and something else she couldn’t identify. It was too familiar. It was almost like it _was_ her mom’s cooking.

But that was impossible, because her mother was time zones away and didn’t know she was fighting wars with saltines and porcelain. It was impossible. It was a coincidence.

Her stomach made a noise Tobin almost didn’t recognize.

The growl of hunger.

She changed into clean sweats and shuffled her way into the kitchen, following the smells that wafted through the door. Christen was huddled over the sink quietly washing a cutting board, headphones still in her ears. Her hair was in a messy bun around the base of her neck and Tobin fought the urge to kiss the exposed skin of her neck.

Christen turned to her and smiled. Tobin hoped it was because she noticed that she had put on clean clothes, not because she was wearing a worn pair of Red Stars sweatpants.

“I hope I didn’t wake you,”

Tobin put her hand at the small of her back and grinned as she moved the headphones away.

“Not you, specifically. What’s that smell?”

Christen’s tentative smile widened. “Do you want some?”

“It’s so familiar.”

Christen pointed to the chair and Tobin obliged. She was already powerless to Christen, but add on the fever and the still unidentified aroma that she just couldn’t get out of her head, she was happy to do exactly as she said. She settled into the chair and watched as Christen moved with ease in her kitchen – effortlessly grabbing a small bowl from the cupboards and carefully ladling the steaming contents of the pot into it.

Chicken soup.

Of course. Chicken soup was what normal people had when they’re sick.

Christen handed her a spoon and rested her hands across her chest, nervously watching from a distance as Tobin stared into the bowl.

Not only was the smell familiar, the chicken soup looked exactly like her mom’s. The carrots were cut into half-moon shapes, the celery so small she wouldn’t even have known it was there. It smelled like lemon and thyme and ginger. Even the noodles were the wagon wheel shapes she remembered.

It tasted like what she remembered too.

Tobin hummed as she took another bite and Christen relaxed against the counter.

“Good?” She asked.

“How?”

Christen laughed. “How?”

“How did you…?” Tobin’s eyes darted from Christen’s crossed arms to the pot on the stove. “How did you know about the wagon wheels? Or the ginger? This is, like, _exactly_ like what my mom made.”

“I – ” Christen started, suddenly shy again. “I had help.”

She passed Tobin the open notebook, the first few pages now filled with scribbles.

_carrots: half-moons, ¼” thick. celery: fine dice. T hates but need it for good broth. no garlic if upset stomach. saute on low 10 min, + thyme and ging. boil chx 10 min, cool 10, shred. wagon wheels._

The top of the page read _Heath fam chicken noodle_.

Tobin was speechless as she read the words on the pages. It _was_ exactly like what her mom made. Christen had hastily written down her mother’s recipe for chicken noodle soup and then recreated it perfectly. To the point where she could identify it by the aroma alone. She was absolutely speechless.

“You… you called my mom?”

Christen tensed again. “You weren’t eating _anything_ and I was getting worried so I… it was the only thing I could think of. Whenever I was sick my mom’s cooking always made me feel better so I called her and asked if there was anything she used to make. I know I maybe shouldn’t have because now she knows you’re sick and I know you don’t want that but…”

“Chris,” Tobin tried to cut her off.

“…but it was all I could think of to do because god, Tobin, you haven’t eaten in two days and…”

“_Christen_,”

Christen took a deep breath and closed her mouth as Tobin moved to stand in front of her. She put her hands on Christen’s shoulders and smoothed them up and down the length of her arms.

“Are you upset?” Her words were timid and low.

Tobin laughed. “I’m impressed.”

“Impressed?”

“Chris, you recreated it, like, perfectly. I recognized it by smell alone but thought it couldn’t be real. Plus, my mother _adores_ you. Even more so now.”

Christen softened and toyed with the strings on the front of Tobin’s hoodie. “Yeah?” she whispered, barely looking up.

Tobin’s heart skipped every time she got to see the shy, nervous side of Christen. Mostly because she knew there was absolutely no reason for it. Tobin was already all in._ All_ in. She had been for a year. She kissed the top of Christen’s bowed head, breathing in the smell of shampoo and_ Christen_.

“Yeah.”

***

**Sight **

Tobin remembered the date exactly. Lauren did, too. It was the day Tobin texted her something she couldn’t come back from.

_i'm going to marry her, Cheney. _

The day started off very much like every other day, except everything looked a little bit different. Like Tobin was seeing things for the very first time.

The sun shined through the palms and refracted off the panes, covering everything in a warm light. She was still waking up, but she swore the Christen was glowing in the light as she pulled her hair back in a loose ponytail. Tobin sat up in an effort to get a better vantage point. She watched as Christen pulled on a pair of yoga pants and smile back towards the bed.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” she said as she pressed a quick peck to Tobin’s forehead.

Tobin grinned back. Christen was definitely glowing.

“I’ll be back in an hour. Coffee’s made.”

Tobin opened her mouth in protest, but before she could do so Christen was already turning back around, leaving her alone in the early morning sunlight that was still perplexing. Everything felt warmer. Lighter. Different. Somehow.

Later in the morning, the sun was higher on the horizon and still bringing a carefree sense of something to the streets. Tobin was mindlessly flipping through the pages of a book in her hands but couldn’t take her eyes off of Christen. They had wandered into the bookstore at Christen’s request and Tobin had obliged, powerless to the way her eyes lit up at seeing it was finally back open.

Christen was deep in conversation with the owner, a small woman who Tobin figured was a fixture of the community from Christen’s earlier years. The sunlight beamed in and bounced off the pages, accenting the dust in the air and the cracks in the floors. It illuminated the two women in the middle of the room as Tobin leaned against a shelf.

She couldn’t hear what they were discussing, but she followed through the lines of Christen’s face. The way her eyes widened, how they crinkled at the edges, how she could tell an entire story through shrugs and nods and hand-waiving. How her eyebrows raised when she was listening intently and how she frowned sometimes when she nodded.

Tobin took in the scene. Pinoe teased her sometimes about following Christen like a puppy. Christen was independent and self-sufficient, but the truth was that Tobin just wanted to be close to her, always. She leaned further into the bookshelf and allowed herself to smile. She got to go to dusty bookstores and watch her girlfriend have animated conversations with the owner, illuminated by the California sun.

Christen glanced towards her and winked, and Tobin’s mouth curled upwards even further. She loved the wink. Christen eventually paid for the books and headed back towards her, eyes wide and still smiling, and Tobin reached to take the bag from her.

As they continued down the street, Christen relaying the story of Mrs. Kim, the high school librarian who dreamed of opening her own bookstore on this street, Tobin is still caught in the sights. They’ve been wandering streets like this for years, side by side and arm in arm, but she can’t keep her eyes off of Christen today.

“…and then she handed me three more books for your niece and – what, do I have something in my teeth?”

Tobin shook her head, eyes never leaving hers. “No, you’re good.”

“You’re looking at me like I have something?”

“Nope.”

“Okay… well anyway, she gave me a book called _Rosie Revere Engineer_ and it’s nerdy but it rhymes…”

Tobin was mostly listening, but the sights were more interesting than the sounds.

The afternoon was no different than the morning, a fairly routine Thursday. She found herself half-watching the tv, and half-watching Christen on the sofa opposite her.

She was backlit by the afternoon sun, and her hair shined even brighter than usual. It was pulled back in a messy bun and the light reflected every flyaway and soft curl around her face. Tobin loved when she left it curled. Loved it straight and styled and in a bun and windswept and falling around her face, but loved it when it was natural and wild and available for her to run her hands through it.

It was afternoons like these that Tobin lived for.

Christen told her once about how meditation was about not thinking. How it was about letting your mind go blank and focusing on breathing and control.

Tobin considered these afternoons like this to be meditative. She allowed herself to release control and got lost in the moment, much like she did earlier against dusty shelves. She watched Christen’s hand mindlessly curl over the pages and twirl a strand of hair around her finger, how her socked feet rest just inches from her lap.

Tobin never imagined she would be this content just being next to someone, watching them read in the afternoon sun, napping and watching tv together, barely saying a thing.

She never imagined falling in love could be this easy.

After dinner, Christen insisted on taking the dogs along the cliffs. The sun set late in the evening in early June, giving them plenty of time to get to the clearing before it would reach the horizon.

The skies were illuminated in pink and orange and a few clouds scattered the horizon. They were colors Tobin knew existed but had never really _seen_ before – flowing in and out of each other easily, the palate mixing in the atmosphere, creating a unique, beautiful, ephemeral scene.

Christen was about ten feet in front of her when Tobin finally realized why the sun had been different all day. It was one of those days. One of those days where God doesn’t speak, only shows you what you need to see. What’s been right in front of you all along.

She jogged to catch up with Christen, who had reached her arm backwards. Tobin laced their fingers together as they reached the edge of the cliffs. Her eyes were still on Christen as she looked out to the sky. She watched her eyes soften and close with the gust of wind, how she squeezed her hand and breathed in the salty air.

Tobin didn’t miss a minute of it.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Christen said quietly, still looking far onto the horizon.

“Yeah,” Tobin’s voice was breathless. She brought Christen’s hand to her face and kissed the back of it, drawing her eyes to hers. “It is.”

The line wasn’t new. It was something she had used for months just to make Christen roll her eyes and swat back at her. Something she used to use to deflect from just how quickly she was falling in love.

They’d come a long way since then.

She hoped her face showed Christen that there was more to the words this time. She ran her thumbs over Christen’s knuckles, still laced with her own, as Christen’s other hand came to her face.

Christen’s face softened as she tucked a stray hair behind Tobin’s ear, her lips turning downward in the incredibly false frown reserved for moments where Christen was too overwhelmed to say anything in response. Tobin watched her bottom lip quiver ever so slightly as she finally met her gaze.

There was a shyness behind Christen’s eyes. An insecurity mixed with a sort of certainty that Tobin couldn’t explain. She held her gaze, filled with a hundred words and a hundred years, hoping it conveyed what she couldn’t say out loud yet. Something she knew but couldn’t say.

(Later, she would text it to Lauren)

For now, she was lost in the way the setting sun reflects behind Christen’s green eyes. The way the dogs lie down at their feet and the way the world stood still. The warmth of Christen’s hands against her jaw as she pulls her close.

Later, much later, illuminated by moonlight, Christen was still glowing. Tobin looked up at her, surrounded by soft curls, and realized what the earlier look in Christen’s eyes was. the mixture of insecurity and certainty.

She felt it too.

The feeling that came with giving yourself, all of yourself, to someone else. Someone you knew was going to hold on to it. The person you see every day and every night. The person you can’t wait to see again. The person who sees you.

It was a sight she knew she would spend the rest of her life chasing after.

***

**Taste**

Salt is a simple compound. Sodium chloride. NaCl. Crystalline, soluble, inorganic. Salt is one of the five basic tastes.

The first time Tobin tasted salt on Christen’s skin, it was intoxicating.

They were in a dimly lit bar in Pittsburgh. Kling was still flying high after her goal and there had been more than a few rounds of shots ordered for the team.

Tobin was mostly people-watching and nursing a gin and soda. She was still energized from the game but was enjoying the opportunity to relax and take in the sights. She liked watching the rowdy tables and the quiet table and the crowd of local grad students arguing about something she didn’t pretend understand.

She liked watching Christen steal French fries from her.

“You’ve got a smudge,” Christen said.

All at once, Christen’s thumb was sliding over her upper lip and Tobin couldn’t move. She stared straight ahead as her entire body tensed under Christen’s touch. Their eyes met for just a minute as Christen moved her thumb away and Tobin still couldn’t breathe.

The moment was over as soon as it began, as someone came over again to congratulate Christen on the hat trick. It was as if it never happened, and it was better that way.

Tobin never forgot the taste of salt on Christen’s skin.

…………

Sometimes when she tasted salt, it was from sweat.

When Tobin was on the pitch everything was honed and focused. Except during celebrations. During celebrations, all hell broke loose. Arms crashed into shoulders and wrists collided with backs and everyone was everywhere. She loved the chaos and the energy that brought them closer together as teammates and made the game more… fun.

She loved scoring goals, sure, because you don’t win games without scoring, but she had always preferred to celebrate her teammates. Tonight, she had gotten to do that a lot.

Christen had scored the team’s third goal and Tobin was the first person around as Christen smiled and threw her arms to the air. It was a great goal, a truly textbook finish, and Tobin was beaming back at Christen as she wrapped her arms around her. The force of Christen’s hug had nearly knocked her over and Tobin had matched the enthusiasm by holding her tighter against her chest.

There was something different about this celebration, Tobin thought. Something about the force of the hug and Christen’s smile and how quickly she ran to her and how easily they fit together. Something.

Tobin didn’t forget the hint of salt on her lips as her smile widened further against Christen’s jaw.

Sometimes, the salty taste of sweat wasn’t mixed with sunscreen and polyester and adrenaline.

Sometimes, the salty taste of sweat against Christen’s neck was clean and hot and electric, accompanied by breathless, needy moans of _Tobin_ and _yes_, and _please _and Christen’s arms wrapped tightly around her shoulders.

Tobin didn’t forget those moments either.

…………

The taste of salt that she’d rather forget was the one that broke her heart.

Tobin woke to silent sobs. Silent, gut-wrenching sobs that left shoulders shaking and lungs empty. The kind that were worse when they were hidden. Christen was turned away from her and curled beneath the blanket, clinging to any ounce of stoicism she could muster.

Tobin had never seen her look so small.

She debated feigning sleep for a few moments and letting Christen grieve in solitude, but the sounds of Christen’s shaky breaths echoed in her ears and in her chest. Tobin tentatively reached a hand to her shoulders.

She felt Christen pull away and worried that she had overstepped, but Tobin didn’t know what else to do. She couldn’t let her keep struggling to breathe through aching lungs in the middle of the night.

“Chris,” Her voice was barely loud enough to hear. She placed her hand firmly to its place on Christen’s back. “Breathe,”

The strangled sob that followed broke her heart.

Christen rolled over to face her and immediately buried her head at Tobin’s chest, never looking up. Her hands grasped tightly in the front of her shirt as she pulled her closer. Her entire body shook as Tobin wrapped both arms around her shoulders.

Her muscles tensed around Christen as she held her steady. There were really no words that would help.

_It’s going to be okay_ \- Except that it wasn’t. Not today.

_I’m here_ \- She was, but she knew Christen wouldn't want to acknowledge that right now. 

_I've got you_ \- She always would.

Christen had buried herself so tightly that all Tobin could do was hold her close and protect her from the darkness of the early morning and the chill of the February air, and hope that that would be enough to keep her from crumbling entirely. Tobin breathed deeply and slowly, methodically, desperately trying not to break herself. Her chest rose and fell beneath Christen’s cheeks. She prayed that Christen could feel her heartbeat below as easily as she felt the dampness of her cheeks above.

Her own cheeks were wet with tears as she drew circles across Christen’s back, barely whispering _Breathe, Christen, just breathe,_ over and over into her hair. After a few minutes, Tobin felt Christen relax and her breathing grow more even, eventually falling into rhythm with her own. She was asleep, still burrowed tightly against Tobin’s chest.

Tobin didn’t forget the taste of salt as she pressed her lips to Christen’s cheek a few minutes later.

She never wanted to taste it again.

…………

Her favorite times tasting salt on her skin were the times when she felt like she was flying.

They were barely visible in the waves of the Pacific, two figures indistinguishable as one silhouetted against the setting sun.

Christen’s long legs wrapped around her thighs as Tobin held her upright, her strong hands pressing into firm muscles, splayed over and under fabric with abandon.

Buoyant amongst the waves, holding her, supporting her, kissing _her_, Tobin felt weightless. 

She was drunk on sunlight the taste of salt against Christen’s skin. She kissed up and down her neck, lingering at the pulse point and the spot behind her ear that always made her shiver. She kissed the scars on Christen’s collarbone and the freckles on her chest and the sharp lines of her jaw.

Christen responded to everything. She turned her head upward and sighed and hummed and Tobin couldn’t get enough. She bit the skin of her neck and Christen’s sharp inhale sent a shiver down Tobin’s spine, her fingers tangling tighter in her hair as Tobin’s tongue soothed over the angry pink marks that bloomed. She grinned against the skin, no longer able to hide the pride at how this was affecting her. 

“You had better not be smirking,”

Tobin felt the low tones rumble against her chest and smiled even wider.

“Can’t help it,” she said as her kisses grew bolder.

Tobin wished there were more words for this but it was indescribable. The fire in her stomach surged through her chest as the waves crashed around them and she was _floating_. There were no words for this, only the taste of salt.

She wrapped her arms tighter and pulled back so that she was looking up at Christen.

“Can’t believe you’re mine.”

Tobin didn’t forget the taste of salt against her lips as she promised _forever_ against them.

***

**Sound**

Tobin had never really liked listening to lyrics of songs. The thing about spending months on end with dozens of other women was that someone was always playing _their_ music. She had long since learned to tune it out, but still heard Amy and Lauren telling her to _just let it go_ whenever she felt herself getting more annoyed than usual. So, she listened to the beat and the pitchy singing of teammates and watched them dance around locker rooms and hotels and buses.

She never paid attention to the lyrics. They were just words, echoing in and out of tempo, lost in translation.

Then one day, all the songs made sense.

…………

She didn’t remember the first time she really started hearing the lyrics, but it was sometime after the first Tournament of Nations. She blamed Alex. Alex, who, bless her heart, would not stop playing Taylor Swift.

_everyone thinks that they know us, but they know nothing about all of this silence and patience… pining in anticipation…_

A few of them had gone to the rooftop to spend a final few hours together before once again parting ways. Camps had gotten more unpredictable, new players were getting call-ups, injuries plagued the teams, and they honestly weren’t sure what was going to happen the next time they got together. Tobin nursed her drink as she watched Christen and Kelley laugh from across the patio.

_say my name and everything just stops. i don’t want you like a best friend_

Tobin was lost in the melody, the words echoed in her ear and bounced like a pinball around her chest. She knew she was staring, but she couldn’t take her eyes off of Christen’s legs, long and tanned and accentuated by the short black dress she wore.

_only bought this dress so you can take it off_

Her entire body was on fire.

…………

It happened more frequently after that. More and more lyrics burrowed under her skin. Most times when it happened, it was accidental and unplanned.

She was in the aisles of a grocery store the first time it left her confused and humming. The quiet melody played over the loudspeaker and Tobin found herself listening as she searched for the cereal she knew Christen preferred as a late-night snack after long plane trips.

_green eyes, you’re the one that i wanted to find _

Tobin didn’t realize she was listening until another woman was struggling to get her cart through the crowded aisle.

_i came here with a load and it feels so much lighter now that i met you_

…………

Most times when she found herself listening to lyrics, she was simply met with the overwhelming urge to talk to Christen. A text, a picture, a phone call, a shout from the other room.

_why can't i say that i'm in love? i wanna shout it from the rooftops_

When they sunk into her skin and filled her chest, there was only one cure – Christen.

_i don’t wanna think about anything else now that i thought of you_

Christen, who was never far from her mind.

_and i'm beginning to feel the years but i'm going to be ok as long as you're beside me along the way_

Christen, who has been by her side in triumph and heartbreak, victory and defeat, always.

_you had my heart a long, long time ago, in case you didn't know _

Christen, who taught her to love and be loved.

_you've got all of me, i belong to you, yeah, you're my everything_

Christen, who somehow made all the songs make sense.

Tobin pieced together what it all meant slowly. What it meant to have someone who suddenly made all the songs make sense.

She remembered what it felt like at first. The thrills of sharing your bed and a secret meant for two. The feelings of lips against lips and skin on skin, hot and fast then slow and steady. She can’t remember who reached for who first, but ever since they did, there was no turning back.

_ever since we crossed that line, got your green eyes in the back of my mind, its true_

She was drunk on it, always.

_common sense falls second place to the way it feels when you kiss my face_

…………

Sometimes, the lyrics stuck with her for hours, challenging her to take a leap of faith.

There was a song on the radio that she couldn’t stop whistling along to. Soft, quiet guitar and drums, and the crooning of a 1970s pop star. The words echoed in her head all afternoon and into the evening as they shared a plate of French fries.

_if i travel all my life, and i never get stop and settle down_

There was a Premier league match on the tv serving as a comfortable distraction, but Tobin still couldn’t get the words out of her head.

_long as i have you by my side, there's a roof above and good walls all around._

Tobin wrestled with how easily they flowed through her. They brought comfort and ease, simplicity and domesticity, but also an overwhelming rush of fear and adrenaline. The kind she got before big matches.

_wherever we’re together, that’s my home._

She looked up at Christen, who was intently watching Chelsea attempt to connect passes in the midfield. She was slightly backlit by the setting sun, illuminating her tanned skin and accenting her features. Tobin had spent every hour of the past week dreaming about this moment – Christen, finally back in Portland beside her, muttering at the tv, eating her French fries in a worn-out hoodie that smelled like her.

She knew she was staring, knew there was no way Christen didn’t notice, but couldn’t help it. She watched Christen move to retrieve a napkin from the drawer, a cup from the cupboard, and turn down the volume. The lyrics still coursed through her veins, suddenly stronger and clearer. Certain.

_i need you in my house 'cause you're my home._

The next words she spoke came easily.

“Move in with me.”

…………

It was the day before the Philadelphia game and once again, Alex was playing Taylor Swift.

They were off in a conference room somewhere – Alex and Pinoe had called an impromptu but mandatory captain’s meeting for the entire team. It started much like every captain’s meeting starts, sitting on the floor in a circle, talking about everything from how no matter what ‘it’s an honor to play for our country’, to how to not respond to rumors about the new coach, to who had the biggest news in the room.

Ali and Ashlyn had settled on a menu, Tierna’s dog had nearly 700 followers on Instagram, and Sam was officiating a wedding next month.

Pinoe always made sure the team spent time off the clock just talking and being present with each other, just being there. It was one of the reasons Tobin was glad she was still captaining the squad.

Just as things were winding down, Tobin noticed Alex rummaging through her bag. Alex pulled out a portable speaker set and her phone before grinning directly at her. Tobin knew exactly what was coming as Alex pressed play. She’s had to listen to it for weeks, now. Somehow, though, she didn’t try to stop it.

The melody started and in an instant, a few loud defenders were shouting at Alex to turn it up.

_the moon is high, like your friends were the night that we first met_

And just like that, Sonnett was in the middle of the circle. Kelley and Lindsey were pulled in not long after, and suddenly the entire room was smiling and clapping and laughing and dancing to the loud, light, _fun_ pop rock. They barely made it out of the first verse before Tobin was pulled up from the floor by Allie and Julie, each grabbing an arm.

By the first _1… 2… 1, 2, 1, 2, 3, 4!_ all hell had broken loose. 

She feigned resistance, loathsome to give in to dancing to pop music like a teenager, but the widening grin that spread across her face as her girlfriend danced her way through the ruckus told otherwise. Christen had a similar grin on her face, mouthing along to the words as she reeled her in like a fish. Her hips swayed and her shoulders were loose and Tobin found herself so ridiculously and completely _in love_.

_i like shiny things but i’d marry you with paper rings_

As the chorus continued to build, Tobin gave in to the energy of the of the room, and the smile of the woman across from her. She knew the words, too, since Christen had been playing the album while she washed the dishes recently.

_i want to drive away with you, i want your complications too_

The music continued, matched with off-pitched singing from a few louder teammates, and Tobin was absolutely lost in it. Christen grabbed her hand and spun her dramatically, and a small circle had formed around them as the song reached the bridge.

She found herself mouthing the words and dancing her movements as the beat slowed.

_i hate accidents except when we went from friends to this_

Tobin loved that line.

She stalked towards Christen as the melody continued to rise, planting a smacking kiss on her cheek as the final chorus began. She took her hand and spun her around, eventually falling into stride with her. She knew the circle was focused on them now, as it expanded to include the rest of the team, but she somehow didn’t mind the attention.

Christen – beautiful, shy, introverted Christen Press – was dancing hand in hand with her, smiling from ear to ear, twirling and swaying in socks and soccer shorts, without any inhibitions. She could marry her right here, right now. With paper rings.

They bowed dramatically as the song ended, their teammates erupting in cheers and laughter as Christen kissed her cheek.

When all the ruckus had calmed, they found themselves at a table in the corner of the room. Crystal finally broke the comfortable silence that has fallen over the table.

“So, Tobes, since I’ve never actually asked you,” she started, “How did you know you were in love?”

Tobin thought about it for a second as she ran her hand across Christen’s knee under the table. She glanced over at Christen, enjoying the slightest blush that always crept up behind her ears whenever someone talked about her without using her name. Tobin held her gaze until Christen’s eyes met hers – she wanted her to look at her, to see her, to hear her, when she responded.

“All the songs made sense.”

Christen softened to it immediately, her hand curling around the one wrapping around her knee already.

The table smiled and Crystal laughed, clearly not expecting the short and honest and _cute_ response, but Tobin guessed that somehow it was exactly what she expected. Tobin always had a way of making perfect sense with as few words as possible.

When they got back to their room that night, Christen pulled Tobin tight to her chest and breathed her in, as though they didn’t already get to do this every single day. Tobin hummed against her, comfortable and warm and at home.

“Did you mean what you said?” Christen asked.

“Of course,” Tobin laughs. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know. It sounded like a line from a movie or tv or something. I thought maybe you were just embarrassed and didn’t want to tell everyone the truth.”

There was the slightest hint of insecurity behind her words. It hadn’t even occurred to Tobin to lie about how she knew she was in love because truthfully, Tobin couldn’t remember the moment. There had been times in her life where she thought of love as a switch – either on or off – but the truth was she fell in love in pieces. Through moments, through experiences. She gained a teammate, a counterpart on the pitch, then a best friend, then a _best friend_, then, well, more.

She fell in love all at once and kept falling deeper, deeper, deeper in love with her. Every night. Every day. Every time she got to reassure her and quell the insecurities that plagued them both.

Tobin reached into her pocket and opened the hidden Spotify playlist.

“I’ve got a playlist. Every time I hear a song and think of you, I add it. It’s six hours long already. This is the first song I added.”

Christen recognized the upbeat melody from years ago, a song she remembered hearing often during their first few months together. Tobin stepped back, extending her hands, and smiled as Christen took one in her own before placing her other hand on her shoulder.

Tobin swayed them gently as the words fill the quiet hotel room, softly singing along to a few token lyrics she’s had burned into her skin and running through her veins for years. 

_you are my favorite everything, been telling you that since 2015. shut up, i love you, you're my best friend_

Christen’s grip tightened slightly and Tobin smiled.

“This is my favorite part,” She whispered, before twirling Christen again and singing along to the chorus.

_get you under pink skies, i know exactly where we should go 'cause i love the way your green eyes mix with that Malibu indigo. _

“This song was playing on the radio the third time you took me to the beach in LA. You watched the sunset and I watched you.”

_talkin' under pink skies, i think our hearts are starting to show, that it's better, you and i, under pink skies _

“I was so in love already and I barely knew it. Until I heard this song.”

“I remember that day,” Christen said, barely loud enough to hear over the music. “You missed your flight the next morning.”

“Didn’t want to leave. Couldn’t keep you out of my mind. Still can’t.”

Christen laughed and shoved her slightly. “Cheesy.”

Tobin only pulled her closer, curling her fingers around her hips and whispering against her lips.

“Shut up, I love you, you’re my best friend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The songs from the sound segment are, in order:  
Taylor Swift – Dress  
Coldplay – Green Eyes  
Little Mix - Secret Love Song  
Taylor Swift - Daylight  
Brandi Carlile - Beginning to Feel the Years  
Brett Young - In Case You DIdn't Know  
The Band CAMINO – 2/14  
Billy Joel – You’re My Home  
Taylor Swift – Paper Rings  
LANY – Pink Skies
> 
> Huge thanks to @what_a_gust for putting together the tc love songs playlist on Spotify - it helped to compile my half-ideas into the mess this became. 
> 
> Final note: This is entirely fiction - I just really love getting lost in love.


End file.
